


Go to Bed

by starsarebrightlyshining



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, Fluff AU, Fluff and Humor, Motel AU, Sharing a Bed, bed sharing au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsarebrightlyshining/pseuds/starsarebrightlyshining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I just started cracking up because i read a prompt on tumblr about awkward angsty bedsharing so here you go some more absolute CRAP and i hope ur happy. did i preview? no. it's 12am give me a break all i wanted was good quality percabeth riordan * throws book *</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go to Bed

It's 2:53 AM and Annabeth just wants to sleep already.

She's driven for seven hours straight, if you don't count the eight stops at various Starbucks, and her eyes are scratchy and red and blurry. Her car began slowing, the lights began dimming, and the radio faded, so she pulled off the highway on the next exit she found. Driving for over 12 hours is rough, but it's worth it to see Luke and his mom in DC. When she started the trip, she was already achey and a little weepy--the visit hadn't gone well. She had gone, helplessly hoping that she and Luke would go out to lunch, maybe see a few movies, helped them pick out a tree for Christmas. Maybe Luke would even finally properly ask her out, realize that he'd seen her as something more all along. 

Nope. She'd arrived, his mother hugging her warmly in welcome, cheerfully babbling something about sheep and space wormholes. Luke had never even come home, texting her that he'd see her another time, and that he was going to spend the weekend on his friend's yacht. She'd pried herself away from Mrs. Castellan and headed home after a quick nap. 

The anger towards Luke scares her. It swells in her like she's going to be sick, and makes her ache with frustration. They used to be so close, and now... 

Now he chooses Ethan and his parents' yacht over her.

When her car begins to refuse to go above 20 mph and continues to drop, she pulls off as quickly as she can into a tiny town (village, more like) with a gas station, a motel, a mc donald's, and an autozone. She's barely able to keep her eyes open anyways, so maybe it's safer this way. She coaxes the car into the motel's parking lot—surprisingly full with a whole six other cars. Sunshine Travels Motel (with the 'u's, the 's's, and a few 'a's missing and a sign below it with letters that space oddly: "W ELCO M E". Her dyslexia makes it read even worse) is unexpectedly busy.

She stumbles inside the tiny motel—seriously, there can only be about five rooms here, maximum—and the hostess, a middle-aged lady with a nametag Annabeth can’t decipher, startles her with a peppy hello. Nobody should be that cheery at nearly 3 in the morning, she thinks, picturing a venti black Starbucks coffee longingly. 

“Hey, hon,” the hostess says. “Car trouble?”

Annabeth blinks.

“That’s what most people end up here for,” the hostess says. 

Bleary, Annabeth hands her her wallet. 

“Just one night, please.”

The hostess nods. “Let me check occupancy.”

Annabeth stares. Who else could be staying in this tiny, forsaken town? Who even lives close enough to work here? 

The hostess presses a few buttons on the old, gasping computer, and begins to say something when the door creaks open and a red-eyed, black-haired sleepy-looking guy about Annabeth’s age stumbles in. He brushes past Annabeth like he barely saw her and croaks, “One room please.”

Annabeth just stares at him. Normally, she’d be quick on the uptake—“Oh no, I was here first, go find your own forsaken village,”—but she’s so sleepy, her brain can barely process fast enough, and it’s after 3 in the morning, and the hostess beams. “Newlyweds, huh? How adorable. We haven’t had those in ages. You’ve got room 818.” And hands two keys to both of them. Before either of them can react beyond a startled stare, she hurries away cheerfully calling, “Jan! We have newlyweds!”

“No,” Annabeth breathes, finally turning around to look at the guy, who looks like he was just hit by a train; dazed, but vaguely sure that that wasn’t meant to happen. “I just want to sleep,” she says, not realizing she’s said it out loud. “For the love of—“ she cuts off, as he turns around. 

“Did what I think just happen… happen?” he says, his eyes watery and eyebrows knotting. He has cute eyebrows. She frowns. “Yes.”

He scratches his head. “Huh.” She thinks that this is a real waker-upper for him, because his eyes widen. “Wait. What?”

She curls her lip, avoiding his round doe-eyes. If doe eyes were green, anyways, she thinks. “She thinks—“ she begins, shaking her head, and is cut off as the hostess hurries back into view. “Oh, and I forgot,” the hostess adds. “You will, of course, get the honeymoon discount. We just love newlyweds here. And breakfast is on us!”

Annabeth stops midsentence. Her mind, however fatigued, is whirring. 

“And—how much exactly—is the honeymoon discount?” she asks casually. 

“Oh, half price.” the woman laughs, waving a hand. “You’re such a lovely-looking couple. It’s the least we can do,” she adds when the boy opens his mouth, Annabeth suspects to protest. She steps on his toe, just gently enough to grab his attention without him yelping. 

He glances at her, then at the woman, and seems to catch on. Took him long enough. “R-right. Um. I’m Percy—Percy Jackson. And this is… my… fiancee…” he coughs, and rubs his nose. 

“Annabeth Chase,” Annabeth supplies helpfully. 

“Ah,” the woman says, pausing at Annabeth’s last name. Too late, Annabeth realizes her mistake, and corrects herself. “Jackson.”

The hostess nods, typing into the computer. 

“Okay then. You two are officially checked into room 818, and you’ve got the honeymoon discount and free breakfast package. Wifi password is ‘sunshinetravels’. Have you got your luggage?” She says, glancing at them in confusion. 

Annabeth freezes. Her clothing is in the trunk. She thinks quickly. “Dear—“ she says to the boy—Jackson, was it?—who jumps guiltily. “Won’t you please get my bag? I think I left it in the car.”

He stares at her. “Right... Dear. Mind giving me the keys?”

She gulps, and hands it to him. She’s giving her keys to a stranger. Her mind has never been more awake. She forces a strangled chuckle that sounds more like a squeak. “Careful not to—bump the car—“ please, her eyes plead pathetically. Don’t steal it.

She should just go out and get the bag herself, but honestly she’s worried that the hostess might see it as a lack of trust on her part, which could be cause for suspicion, and the truth is that this honeymoon discount could be the only thing enabling her to spend the rest of her money on gas for the trip home. She still has another eight hours worth of driving or so. 

He holds her gaze and says simply, “Sure.” And then pushes through the doors, disappearing into the night.

Her heart sinks into her stomach as the minutes pass, and then she feels sick with relief when the guy stumbles through the door for the third time hauling two heavy suitcases, one of them not hers. 

She rushes over to the suitcase. “Honey,” she says, trying not to show her utter relief, but perhaps a bit of it slipping through anyways, “Let me help you with that,” and tries to not wrench the suitcase from his hands. He glares at her. “Can I talk to you, sweet cheeks?” he says. “Privately?”

The hostess is all a-flutter. “Of course!” she beams. “I’ll show you to your room.” 

It’s the last room at the end of the hallway, with the faded, brass numbers “818” hanging in the middle. The hostess practically shoves them inside. “Have a lovely night!” she practically sings, and Annabeth waits until she hears the woman’s footsteps fading before slamming Jackson against the fridge. He looks taken aback, like he imagined this encounter going differently. His black hair is messy and looks hastily arranged. She twists her hold in his shirt and hisses through her teeth, “Don’t even think about trying anything. We’re going to share a room because I’m broke. Don’t imagine for a second that I won’t take you down.”

“That’s too many negatives,” Jackson manages. “Should I imagine that you won’t take me down, or not imagine that you will take me down, or—“ 

She tightens his collar. 

“Got it,” he croaks. After a moment, she loosens her hold. He straightens his shirt. “I’m not that kind of guy, anyways, I’d never do this if my car wasn’t dead and I didn’t have anywhere else to stay,” he says under his breath to her. The walls are thin.

She touches her eyes, then points at him. I’m watching you. She takes her suitcase and lugs it into the bathroom, which has a broken doorknob and won’t lock (or shut all the way, for that matter). She manages to get out and into her clothes with one toe pressed against the door to keep it closed. She notices the shower, which is unexpectedly clean and looks inviting, but there’s no way she’s showering with a stranger in the room, so she reluctantly leaves the bathroom to find Jackson sitting on the bed, staring at his phone. He’s halfway through taking his shirt off, as it hangs around his neck like he forgot what he was doing midtask. She doesn’t look at his back, or his bony hips, or notice his lanky build. She clears her throat awkwardly. He jumps, like he already forgot what was going on, and stares at her. He clears his throat too. “Sorry.” he says. “I’ll take the floor.” Annabeth is about to say that she thinks that’s a good idea, when the door bursts open, and they both shout, startled. 

“Ooh, sorry!” trills the hostess. “We just were so excited to have newlyweds, the cook sent over some muffins and hot chocolate from last night.”

Annabeth is terrified. If the hostess burst in while Percy is asleep on the floor, she’ll know for sure that something is up, and the discount will disappear. And she only has about $80 left in her account. 

“Please knock!” she says, thinking quickly. “We could’ve been—“ her excuse for locking the door at home is that she could have been changing. “Changing,” she finishes, and then her cheeks turn very warm. 

The hostess looks somewhat abashed, but not very. “Of course! I’m sorry, it’s just been so long—“

Jackson crosses the room, grabs the food, and smiles at the hostess. “Don’t worry,” he says kindly, and the next thing Annabeth knows, the hostess is gone, the door is locked and bolted, the food is on the kitchenette counter, and he’s disappeared into the restroom. 

Her fuzzy, tired mind had a spurt of adrenaline but now it's even more exhausted than before, and she makes her way slowly to the large bed, sick with dread. Things are about to get very awkward. 

A few minutes later, Jackson walks back into the bedroom looking somehow more rumpled than before. He looks startled to see her, as if he thought he might have dreamed the whole thing. 

"Okay." Annabeth stands in front of him, her limbs aching in protest as she stares him down. "Here's how this is going to work."


End file.
